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We were especially eager to find him because Miss Monogue had some good news for him about his book. There is a gentleman a friend of Mr. Peter's who has been doing everything to find him who is with Miss Monogue now. He will be delighted. Perhaps you will go up."
You can imagine how riotous we got when I tell you that dessert found Mrs. Rossiter with a paper cap on her head and Janet Gale was singing some Cornish song or other to the delight of the company. Miss Monogue and I were the quietest. I should think that she's one of the best, and I saw her look at Peter once or twice in a way that showed how strongly she felt about him.
And yet he turned the pages over tenderly there might be something to be said for it, Miss Monogue had thought well of it. These publishers, blase, cynical fellows, surely believed in it. It was fat and red and comfortable. It had a worldly, prosperous look. "Reuben Hallard and His Adventures" ... Good Lord! What cheek. There were five copies to give away. One between Bobby and Mrs.
She hesitated a little before she answered. "No, you've never told me anything. I could see, of course, that it hadn't been easy." "How could you see that?" "Well, it hadn't been easy for either of us. That made us friends. And then you don't look like a person who would take things easily ever. Tell me about your early life before you came here," Norah Monogue said.
Monogue," said the Signor, "to introduce to you Mr. Peter Westcott." The lady in question was stout, red-faced, and muffled in shawls. She extended him a haughty finger.
You might have been dead for all we knew, and indeed if it hadn't been for Miss Monogue the other day we'd have heard no news since the day that wild man with the beard came walking in," she broke off suddenly "and there you are, holding your umbrella with the point down and making a great pool on the carpet as though " She took the umbrella from him but her hand rested for an instant on his arm and she said gruffly
A faint voice answered his knock and, entering the room, the scent of medicine and flowers that he always connected with his mother, met him. Norah Monogue, very white, with dark shadows beneath her eyes, was lying on the sofa by the fire. Mrs. Brockett had prepared her for Peter's coming and she smiled up at him with her old smile and gave him her hand.
Galleon, one for Stephen, one for Miss Monogue, one for Mrs. Brockett and one for Mr. Zanti. "Reuben Hallard and His Adventures," by Peter Westcott. They would be getting it now at the newspaper offices. The Mascot would have a copy and the fat little chocolate consumer. It would stand with a heap of others, and be ticked off with a heap of others, for some youth to exercise his wit upon.
"I left very early. Miss Monogue came away at the same time. She spoke to me before she said good-night: 'I know that you are an old friend of Peter's. I am so fond of him we all are at Brockett's, it isn't often that we see him I know that you will be his true friend in every sense of the word and help him as he ought to be helped. It is so little that I can do.... "Her voice was sad.
Into their silence there came a knock on the door. When Miss Monogue opened it the stern figure of Mrs. Brockett confronted her. "I beg your pardon, Miss Monogue, but is Mr. Westcott here?" Peter stepped forward. "Oh, I'm sure I'm sorry to have to disturb you, Mr. Westcott, but there's a man outside on the steps who insists on seeing you." "Seeing me?" "Yes he won't come in or go away.
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